


Firefly

by snowlikestardust



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Dimension Travel, Harry Potter Has Depression, Harry Potter Has a Different Name, Harry is Hadrian, Slytherin Harry Potter, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlikestardust/pseuds/snowlikestardust
Summary: "With one hand clenching his wand, the other a time turner, Harry faced the hulking Mirror of Erised. A satchel was thrown across his back, full of expansion charms and notes and forgotten dreams.If one were to find themselves in the Room of Requirement at that day, that hour, that second, they would see something most peculiar indeed. But no one was in the Room, or in Hogwarts, or anywhere near Harry James Potter in that moment. The only witness to the extraordinary event that took place was the blackened walls of a room destroyed by fiendfire. And so Harry Potter ceased to exist in that world."





	Firefly

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the rewrite of Firefly. I got three chapters into the first version, and hope to get a lot further this time around. After the first chapter I plan to skip ahead to fourth year. I don't know when the next update is going to be.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter  
> Warnings: Harry does have depression in this, and a good bit of his mental illness is based on my own. So a warning for depiction of severe depression. (That made the fic seem super angsty. It's not, I promise)

Harry Potter was used to being alone. He was used to looking in old photo albums and tracing his fingers over missing faces. He was used to visiting graves on anniversaries that seemed to occur far too often. He was used to quiet tears in the dead of night, and aching scars when it got cold.

Harry Potter had been alone for quite a long while, and had been {doing something} for even longer.

Harry was tired of being alone.

He’s not sure when he made the decision. He thought that it had happened sometime between the last Death Eater being locked up and when he turned to ask Hermione her opinion on the new Ministry regulations.

Harry was tired of turning to speak to people who weren’t there.

When Harry had first asked (begged) Dumbledore’s portrait for an answer (he just wanted a way out) he hadn't believed what he was told. But this was magic. Great wonderful magic that the Dursley’s had scoffed and sneered at and Harry had held close to his chest. The magic that was flickering lights over books deep into the night, that was a charm on his glasses that repelled the rain, that was moving pictures on every wall in a small bedroom at the top of a tall crowded house—this magic, Harry believed, could save him.

Harry Potter was twenty two years old and had lost everyone he had ever cared for. So when he was told of a way to go back, to change things—well, there was never any chance Harry would have said no.

(There used to be laughter in these halls, Harry thought as he made his way to the Room of Requirement. There used to be children.)

Harry had thought a lot about where he would like to spend his last moments in this world. There weren’t that many places left though, to be perfectly honest. The Burrow was burned to the ground, only charred remains left to serve for a hurried burial ground for its inhabitants. Dragon Alley and Hogsmead were nothing but shadows of what they once were, war torn and savage in the scars of battle still seen. Hogwarts was the only place left for Harry. (Was there a certain irony there, that the first place Harry learned to live, and the first place that he learned to die, would be the one place that would always welcome him home?)

It was the Room of Lost Things that Harry said his final goodbyes to, an echoing chasm of what once was. It seemed fitting that all that was left in the room was ashes—ashes and regrets.

With one hand clenching his wand, the other a time turner, Harry faced the hulking Mirror of Erised. A satchel was thrown across his back, full of expansion charms and notes and forgotten dreams. 

If one were to find themselves in the Room of Requirement at that day, that hour, that second, they would see something most peculiar indeed. But no one was in the Room, or in Hogwarts, or anywhere near Harry James Potter in that moment. The only witness to the extraordinary event that took place was the blackened walls of a room destroyed by fiendfire. And so Harry Potter ceased to exist in that world.

————————

It had taken a lot more paperwork than one would think to travel to an alternate dimension. A new name, birth certificate, records of prior schooling, and explanation of why no one had ever heard of him before was the least of it. Not to mention a whole new appearance (so as to not look like anyone in the new dimension) and a whole new air-tight backstory.

Harry did a lot of paperwork in the weeks after he first arrived in the new world, and went through a lot of changes.

A new appearance had been the start, and luckily Harry had been able to hire some shady people who really didn’t care why he needed to look like an eleven year old as long as they got cash out of it. The age shrinking potions tasted disgusting, as most potions do, but it was high quality and only needed to be taken once a year to keep up the normal aging process, so Harry figured it money well spent. 

Next was a potion to turn his green eyes blue, and his black hair light brown. Some semi-permanent charms to change his face shape, that he would have to reapply to himself every three months, and finally a growth potion, because Harry was not going to stay in the younger-him’s malnourished body weight and height. 

Nothing could get rid of the scars, though long-sleeve shirts could cover most of them and the rest could be covered with charms. While wearing the Hogwarts uniform the only scars he would have to hide were the one on his forehead and the one on the back of his hand from fifth year detention, both of which small enough not to be a bother to conceal.

Looking into his appearance, Harry couldn’t decide whether the change was nice or disconcerting. Probably somewhere in between.

————————

Three months. Three months of paperwork and spending of a lot of the money Harry had brought with him. Three months into this new world, and Harry had become Hadrian Snow. (It was snowing the night it all went bad. Maybe it wasn’t smart to name himself after such a thing, but he needed to remember.)

(Harry—or would it be more prudent to call him Hadrian now?—wished he could continue going by his true name. But there was already a Harry Potter in this world, and even if his counterpart weren’t the Boy-Who-Lived, there being two Harry’s in a group of less than twenty first years would make him Stand Out. Which was the opposite of what Harry wanted to do.)(Besides, Hadrian is a cool sounding name.)

Hadrian Snow was born in a small village that hardly anyone knew existed. Said village got wiped out in a Death Eater attack a couple of weeks after the supposed death of the Dark Lord (but before the Ministry could get themselves together enough to track down all of the remaining terrorists). The only survivor of the attack was Hadrian, who was visiting his extended family in their mountain home. Hadrian was then put into custody of said extended relatives, and spent the remainder of his adolescents with them.

Why was a one year old visiting his extended family on his own you ask? Well, answers like that went a little beyond the effort Harry (and the author) was willing to put into anything.  
————————

Sorting was perhaps one of the few things Harry couldn’t plan for. While he did have preferences, the Sorting Hat was going to put him where it wanted to put him. (If the Sorting Hat does not take suggestions, you may ask, why did it listen to Harry the first time around? The answer to that is simple: it takes courage for an eleven year old to ask a sentient hat to choose a certain option that will dictate the rest of their life. Courage like that belongs in Gryffindor)

Frankly, none of the options seemed all that flattering. Just thinking back on his previous years at Hogwarts, every house seems equally horrifying. Gryffindor? Harry once saw one mix together NyQuil and a five hour energy drink because “potions were for the weak.” Ravenclaw? There was entire three month period where a graduating class would burst into tears any time someone mentioned maple leafs. Hufflepuff? A sixth year fought a squid because it “was giving his friend a shifty look.” Slytherin? One conjured a pair of safety scissors, cut off their bangs, and proceeded to throw the scissors at someone’s eye. 

Chaotic neutral, the lot of them.

So yeah, Harry didn’t really care all that much where he ended up.

_But still,_ Harry couldn’t help but think as he walked to his new house table, _did he have to end up in the Angstiest™ House there was?_ This was not going to help him out of his depressive cycle of regret and worry. Prepubescent teens are bad enough, now he has to live with the Edge Lords™ who everyone thinks are evil from eleven year old on. Joy.  
————————

Hadrian wasn't sure if it was just this universe, or if Slytherins were just different from Gryffindors, but he was sure something was off. He did not remember taking part in a highly illegal blood ritual his first time around life. And he definitely didn’t remember being able to see the castle glow for a few seconds. He probably would have formulated a lot of questions with that impressive twenty two year old brain of his, had it not been for the fact it was ridiculously late at night and the minor sensory overload brought on by the feast had started a depressive state, meaning Harry was feeling Nothing™ and honestly just wanted to set himself on fire. So, no questions. At least for now.

Well, maybe some questions.

Why do Slytherins have to walk through a maze of hallways to find their dorm room? What was with that one prefect who started cackling? Who thought it would be a good idea to shove six boys into one dorm room? Why are there only boy and girl dorm rooms, what if you fall somewhere in between? Why can boys go into the girls’ dorm room when in Gryffindor they couldn’t? Do the upperclassmen really have to play into that Evil Slytherin archetype so much? Why can’t Harry’s mind just Calm Down. Are they already in their dorm rooms? Wow, that was fast. Or was it? Time is an illusion and nothing is real.

Harry decides he’s going to go to sleep. 

————————

A quick introduction to the 1st year Slytherins.

Draco Malfoy. Wakes up ridiculously early in the morning to work on his hair. Outside of the common room brings up his father every other sentence. (Harry wondered if it had been a front in his first life too. How well did he really know Draco Malfoy?) Intelligent, but acts like he isn’t but he thinks he is. Fake pride, fake reliance on his father. Harry couldn’t help but ask himself how much of Draco was real.

Gregory Goyle. Acts like he’s all muscle, but he knows people. He observed, and nobody expected him to reveal their secrets—heck, they didn’t expect him to realize their secrets—so he could compile accurate analyses. He let others see him as Draco’s grunt, and that took a lot of grit in Harry’s opinion.

Vincent Crabbe. At first glance Harry had been able to see something special about him. He was trained in the fighting arts, something rare for wizards. Harry was pretty sure if Vincent’s wand was taken away, he would be able to handle himself.

Theodore Nott. Quiet, unassuming, frail-looking. Would stab someone with a dinner fork with no hesitation. He was the guy that you told all your secrets because he would kill you if you didn’t.

Blaise Zabini. He was the politician of the group. Everyone loved him, and if they didn’t he made them love him. Social charisma and charm he had in abounds, but what most overlooked was his sharp genius.

Pansy Parkinson. Much like Draco, she put up a front of a bratty eleven year old. She had more masks than Harry had been able to uncover, and he still wasn’t sure whether he had ever met her true personality. 

Daphne Greengrass. Ice queen. Cold fury and unrelenting drive. Harry could easily picture her murdering a man in an evening gown.

Tracy Davis. High blonde ponytails and eyeliner sharper than the knife she keeps in her boot. She’ll smile at you, give a friendly wave, and get you so tangled up in your own lies that you can’t move.

Terrifying, the lot of them.

Granted, this is for when they were all fourteen, not eleven. It seems the narrative has gotten ahead of itself. They are only first years at the moment, and they are not nearly as threatening as the past few paragraphs have made them appear.

————————

Okay, so Hadrian didn’t mean to get a cat, okay? But well, a third year’s cat got pregnant, and needed to find homes for all the kittens, and Harry couldn’t just /not help her/, right? Even if all of his roommates claimed the cat was a demon from hell, Hadrian was in love with the furry kitten and was never getting rid of her. (If anything happened to her, he would probably kill everyone in the room and then himself. That’s probably the only thing keeping his roommates from finding a new home for her.)

So he had a cat. A cat that seemed to hate the world as much as Harry did. A cat that was happy to lay down on Harry constantly so he’d have an excuse to not get up (and if the cat always seemed to be there when Hadrian was in a depressive state, well, cats are quite intelligent). But yes, a cat. Named Death. Harry was pretty sure the only reason Death tolerated him was because he let her get away with Anything™ and they were both equally lazy and Bitter at the world.

So maybe Hadrian didn’t mean to get a cat. But in his opinion Death is honestly the best thing that has happened to him since he traveled to this world. And all of the death puns he can make now are the highlight of his life.


End file.
